The bridal gown for the northern frontier carries the chill of the poisoned wine that killed her in her previous life. Shen Zhiwei jolts awake before the mirror: last night, she was a lonely soul amid corpses buried in yellow sand, but now she has returned to the eve of the day she was to be sent far away to marry in place of her elder sister. Her stepmother's urging comes through the rain. She taps a silver hairpin against her dressing case. “I've caught a chill. It would be a shame if I ruined my sister's marriage.”
Clutched in her sleeve is the recipe for osmanthus sugar cakes left by the old nanny. In the mirror stand's drawer, a broken piece of jade engraved with the character “Jue” glints coldly. It's a calamity she doesn't dare touch again in this life. All she wants now is to tend the little kitchen in the west courtyard, let the scent of sugar drift over the Marquis's household schemes, and stay out of conflict.
But trouble refuses to leave her alone. When her elder sister smashes her sugar cakes, she picks up the crumbs and sighs with a smile, “I'll make more next time. I wouldn't want the ashes to dirty Sister's hands.” When the Empress Dowager insists she marry a wastrel prince, she kneels outside the palace gate with a food box. “This humble girl can only make pastries. I'm afraid I'd bring disgrace upon His Highness.”
Until the night of the palace banquet, when Prince Jing, Xiao Jue, blocks her path. A handkerchief dusted with sugar clings to his fingertips. “Miss Shen, you dropped your sugar cakes.” She looks up into his deep eyes and notices osmanthus crumbs on his cuff, exactly like those in her little kitchen.
Only later does she understand: in her previous life, he was the one who gave her a jade hairpin, shielded her from assassins, and watched over her lonely grave. And in this life, the cold-hearted prince who watches her “give up and avoid the world” is also the one who secretly tucked her sugar cake recipe into the sachet he keeps close to his body.
